


Fashionable

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [413]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Brotp, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:14:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: John's style and Penny's help





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so preludeinz got talking about her Heavenward headcanons and got onto the idea of John and fashion. Then she pointed out Penny was probably involved at some point in their college careers. she then made giant kittycat eyes for me to write it for her. she is lucky she's cute.

Penny had known _of_  John Tracy for years, as just another point in the complex map of distant relationships that marked out her social sphere.  But it was only here, at college and away from the rest of that network that Penny was getting to know _John_.

Mostly, in her life, she had acquaintances, frenemies, contacts and colleagues.  John, she suspected, was her first real _friend_.

As such, she didn’t slam the door on him when he appeared on her doorstep at eight am on a Tuesday morning in what looked suspiciously like knock-off jeans and an MIT hoodie.

In his hands was his personal tablet, which he thrust at her with the ceremony of the Rosetta Stone.  “Help me,” he pleaded.

Up until now, John had only ever come across as drily witty and cooly disaffected.  Penny took his tablet and flicked through the pages slowly, her eyebrow slightly rising towards her hairline.  “I never picked you as a GQ reader,” she noted.

John was hanging off the doorframe, all too-long limbs and washed out fleece.  “I have my entrance interview next week,” he said, like it wasn’t something he’d been going on about endless since the semester started.  Penny appreciated his intense drive, his obvious love of space.  

There was something about watching someone so very good at what they do talking about their pet topic that had always intrigued her.

She wasn’t sure how that tied into the men’s fashion magazine in her hands though.  She gestured at the male model on the screen to try to get a clue.

“And I don’t want…” he stood up straight and gestured at his clothes.  “Penny,” he said, taking a deep stabilizing breath.  “I went through high school as king of the nerds, because that was the easiest way to get to where I wanted to be.  But now I’m here…” and the gesture flung out, narrowly missing the door frame, to encompass the entire campus.  “And I don’t want to be this nerd anymore.  I don’t want this to be all they see.”

Penny’s eyes widened.  “John,” she said slowly.  “Are you asking for what I think you’re asking for?”

John steeled himself. “Penelope Creighton-Ward,” he said so formally he sounded like he should be on bended knee.  “Will you do me the honour of giving me your expert fashion advice.”

Penny squealed with joy and flung her arms around his neck.

 * * *

“Clothes won’t make a lick of difference with that dead sheep on your head,” she said, steering him confidently into the barber’s shop.  

She spoke quickly to the old woman behind the counter, leaving John to take in the black and white linoleum floor and the proper striped barber’s pole.  Penny’s father came here on his frequent business trips, and she has come to appreciate the skill of an old-school barber.

Luckily, the shop was quiet this early in the morning, and Penny claimed for herself one of the seats as John was turned this way and that by the master barber himself.  “He has decided it is time to live up to his gentlemanly potential,” she told him, laughing at the delighted grin over the top of John’s head.  “I was thinking Old Hollywood class, perhaps?  Maybe a little Errol Flynn around the sides?”

He nodded as he moved John’s head to the perfect position and started snipping.

“Why do I think?” John said, sounding amused even as he kept his head perfectly still.  The scissors flashed rapidly around his ears, and copper hair scattered in a ring around him.  “That you have a plan in pocket for just this eventuality?”

Penny shrugged, drawing her heels up to rest on the foot bar.  “I admit, I may have entertained the occasional idle thought about cutting up those hideous t-shirts I am sure you buy in packs of three.”

John had the grace to look abashed.  “They fit.”

“Darling,” she snorted.  “They really don't.”  She watched the barber feather and trim around his crown a moment.  “You know there are stylists who are paid to do this type of thing, right?  Heavens, to dress a Tracy they’d probably do it for free, for the exposure alone.”

John made a face, rolling his eyes as the barber clucked at him and yanked his head back into position.  “When Scott started doing stuff with dad, the company actually did send a stylist over.”

“And?” Penny prompted as the silence dragged on.

John’s eyes seemed transfixed by the clear glass jar which held the combs.  “I don’t know.  Just…it seemed like she wanted to dress Scott in a way that made sense to her, but…it wasn’t him.”

“Not his style,” Penny identified, understanding dawning.  “You want to smarten up, but you still want to be you.”

John finally looked back at her, beaming.  “I knew you’d understand.”  He let his head be tipped forward so the clippers could run down the nape of his neck.  “You know me, Pen.  And I don’t think you’ll try to change me.”  He considered his situation a moment.  “At least not in any way I hadn’t wanted.”

She straightened up as the barber began brushing in the style.  “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

Outside, Penny went up on tiptoes to brush away a few last loose strands of hair.  He looked older with his hair properly cut, his cheekbones more pronounced, his jawline stronger.  Penny brushed her fingertip up his cheek, gathering the last few ginger specks.  “Let’s go shopping.”

He offered her his arm.  “And afterwards,” she added.  “We’ll ceremonially burn those t-shirts.”

He was laughing as she leaned in against him as they strolled downtown.

 * * *

That had been five hours ago.  To be honest, Penny had half-expected whining, or dragging of heels, or even outright refusal as John gave up on the mission and retreated to the safety of those hideous hoodies.

But John had drive, and he saw things through.  When he made a plan, he committed.

Penny suspected he was, in fact, almost enjoying himself.

She watched him finger the fabric of a blazer, listening intently as the attendant – and it was an attendant, because if John wanted to improve his wardrobe, Penny wasn’t letting him take half measures at some suburban mall – explain to him the finer details of material and cut.  “Yes,” he agreed, handing over his black credit card.  Penny was getting used to the wide eyes of the attendants; he was still in that horrific hoodie, and he didn’t look like the kind of man to carry a triple platinum card with unlimited credit.

Penny wondered if he’d ever even used it before.  It was certainly getting a workout today.

“Penny?” he asked.  “The two button blazer?”

She cast a critical eye over him.  “Yes, but not the black.”

“Grey?”

She shook her head slightly.  “John, has anyone told you you’re a natural colour blocker?”

John’s eyes were dancing, his face impassive.  “Not a _colour_  blocker, no.”

She covered her unladylike snort with a little cough. “Fine.  At least you have a good eye for structure.  We’ll work on colour another day.”

John waited until their package had been carefully wrapped and she had taken his arm once more.  “Does it count as colour that I’m wearing red boxers?”

“I know,” she said, unruffled.  “I’ve seen them several times today.”  John muttered something ungentlemanly about changing rooms, and she poked him lightly.  “Which reminds me, the elastic on those looked half gone.  The most impeccable trousers in the world mean nothing with slouchy boxers.”

“You’re going to help me pick out my underwear?” he asked.

Penny beamed at him and dragged him towards the appropriate store.  “Of course darling.  That’s what friends are for.”

 * * *

They ordered in pizza, on the grounds that they were still college students and thus it was still a socially acceptable dinner option.

As they waited for their food to be delivered, they worked together to unpack all their purchases, spreading them out over John’s bed and eventually the floor. “Those things will need a pre-wash.”  She paused.  “Please tell me you don’t just throw all your laundry in together in one wash?”

John shrugged and looked away, and Penny kicked him lightly with her bare toes.  “We’ll save a laundry lesson for tomorrow.”

“You do your own laundry?” John asked skeptically.

“I am a Lady of many skills,” Penny teased airly.  “But first,” she added, picking out an ensemble with quick movements.  “Give me a little show.”

John answered the door for the pizza in his suit, and the delivery girl dropped the garlic bread.  It still tasted delicious as they ate in front of the fireplace, tossing the worst offenders from John’s old t-shirt pile in one by one.

Penny considered the day a success.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family get a look at John's new wardrobe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all sineater's fault. that is all

“Someone did tell John this was the kind of event that required a tie, right?” Gordon asked as Scott ruthlessly tightened the knot on his own.  His choice of the tie with mermaids swimming had been vetoed in favour of one made of fine yellow silk.  “Ugh,” he gasped as Scott yanked it up hard enough to strangle.

“If you’re going down, you’re taking him with you, huh?” Scott asked.  He was in uniform, every line of his Class A dress crisp and perfect.

Gordon shrugged, feeling his jacket tug across his shoulders.  This suit was barely six months old, but was already too tight in all the wrong places. Gordon wriggled, trying to get comfortable.  “This ship is a-sinkin’ with all hands,” he agreed, wincing at the light slap delivered with pinpoint accuracy across the back of his head.

His father was dapper as always, his formal suit almost like a second skin now.  “Nothing is going down and no-one is yelling timber,” he said sternly.  “We’re not having a repeat of the Charity Ball incident,” he added with a warning glare.

“No sir,” Gordon muttered, subdued.  The champagne fountain was totally not his fault, but he’d stopped trying to argue his case.

His father nodded, satisfied.  “But where is John? We’re going to be late. Scott?”

Scott already had his phone out.  “Says he’s just coming up now,” Scott reported.

Jeff’s eyes roamed over his other sons, counting off heads and assessing that they were ready to be put in the public eye once more.  

They all knew the drill; Scott’s uniform all dark blue and braid standing out against three bland, black formal suits.  Only their ties showed any spark of originality – Gordon’s sunflower yellow, Alan’s a deep, bloody red, and Virgil a grassy green.  “If we were the same height, we’d be great pallbearers,” Gordon quipped, earning another light slap.

“Careful,” his father said, but there was a hint of a smile around the old man’s eyes.  “Virgil, where did you put John’s suit bag…ahh, thankyou,” he added as Virgil patted the thick sealed bag draped over the back of the suite’s sofa.  “Once John gets changed, we’ll head down.”

“I’m ready,” a voice said from by the door.

Gordon was at the back of the room, with a view of his family as they all turned.  It was gratifying, he noted, that his wasn’t the only jaw that dropped.

Unlike his younger brothers, John’s suit was a grey like brewing stormclouds, set off by a rich, deep black of his silk shirt.  His tie was, if Gordon wasn’t mistaken, a perfect Kelvin knot, and as grey as his suit.  Gone was the scruff of ginger hair pointing in all directions.  Instead it was perfectly coifed, lightly gelled into an upswept quiff that made his cheekbones look sharp enough to cut a man.

“Who are you and what have you done with our scruffy nerdherder of a brother?” Gordon asked, shattering the awkward silence.

John shrugged, and that was all awkward big brother.  “The invite said formal.”  He brushed a non-existent speck of lint off his perfectly aligned collar.  “Grey the wrong choice?”

Virgil snickered.  “Choice?  Do you own more than one suit now, bro?”

John, the nerd that he was, looked at the ceiling as he mentally counted.  “Six, now.”

Their father shook his head.  “Grey is fine, good to see you taking an interest in your presentation,” he said briskly.  “Come on boys, let’s hustle.”  He chivvied Alan out in front of him, Scott and Virgil dutifully falling into line behind, even if they both glanced back one last time at John before they hurried through the door.

Gordon waited, arms folded, until it was just him and John.  He eyed his brother up and down, taking in the view from the polished oxfords up to the tips of his freshly cut hair.  “Lady P?”

John blushed.  “She gave me some advice.,” he admitted.

Gordon grinned and took pity on him.  There was a story there, but now wasn’t the time.  “Glad to see you’re smart enough to take it,” was all he said. “Come on,” he added, dealing out a brotherly punch to John’s arm.  “Let’s go show these dweebs how to make a damned entrance.”

John bowed, and Gordon wasn’t sure if it was the suit or the new-found aura of adult competence that now surrounded him that let John make the move look stately and elegant.  “After you, sir.”

Gordon didn’t do mature.  He did shit-stirring with style.  He held out his arm to John.  “Together. I insist.”

Old John would have shied away.  New John just laughed and took Gordon’s arm, looping them together at the elbows.  With a jaunty sway to their step, they headed out to join the party.


End file.
